


Intervention

by Fantine_Black



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ilvermorny, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Credence Barebone-centric, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Original Percival Graves is Bad at Feelings, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 21:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15981128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantine_Black/pseuds/Fantine_Black
Summary: Credence doesn't really know what his greatest fear is - he's hardly ever not afraid. He hates dark cold places, the smell of ink, the sound of bells.Modesty getting sick.He takes his turn, and hears three words:"What is this?"





	Intervention

‘What is this?’        

His brain – stops. There’s no other word for it, and forces seem to be pulling him down, down, buckling in on himself. There’s no room for his lungs, somehow, and his muscles are shaking so much he can barely hold on to his wand.

‘Credence.’

And he hates this so much because there is some spell, some duty, one of his elders has told him to perform and he can’t, you see, but he also can’t not and he could never tell.

So he lifts a useless jelly arm and he says ‘Ridi – Ridikku –’

And only a lifetime of observing all the muscles in her face could tell him this but he’s done it now, would be halfway across the landing when at home, but as it stands she only holds out her hand and there is no choice.

He hands her the wand.

‘Sir – ’ someone says, but is held back, and that is nothing new. There’s always someone, at first, who hasn’t learnt, of his shame, of Ma’s righteous wrath. She likes the audience, you see, and the audience likes it – order and discipline, sullen boy like him, he must deserve it. And now everybody waits until she takes his wand and _snaps_ it –

-Might as well have been his spine -

‘Sir!’ This one is more insistent, and he would have been grateful, but he cannot stop staring as she throws away his wand, his ticket out, just because he can’t even be a wizard, a _witch,_ as Ma calls him, devil’s spawn, Satan’s scourge, and he can’t, and she grabs his arm, pinching his skin –

‘What are you?’

‘You can still do the spell’ barely pierces his skull, the response is so ingrained:

‘A freak.’

‘And?’

‘A sinner.’

She nods. ‘Get on your knees.’

He feels a hand on his shoulder, behind him. ‘Credence, try. Riddikulus.’

But he can’t. His shame burns him up, his tears – he can never get away, never defend himself, won’t be allowed to stay, not after this – Ma’s eyes are blazing, ‘Don’t look away from me, boy’, with her ring catching on his face, and when she points to the floorboards he goes –

‘Riddikulus.’

Ma _bursts,_ and the whole class gasps, and he feels an arm round his shoulder. ‘Come, Credence, let’s sit down for a minute. There you go.’

And Mr. Graves hands him chocolate, and it warms him a little, but the whole class has seen and he’s broken his wand and…

‘Miss Goldstein.’ There’s a smile in his voice. ‘And ah- Miss Goldstein. Ten points to your respective houses. Very well done.’

Tina is fuming. ‘He’s broken his wand, why didn’t you do anything?!’

Queenie nods. ‘Mr. Graves – she hit him, how could you let her hit him…’

‘Miss Goldstein – would you be willing to testify to what you have just witnessed?’

Tina nods furiously, and Queenie does the same. ‘Yes, Mr. Graves.’

‘I ask you again, ladies. Will you be willing to corroborate what you have all just seen, even to the highest authorities?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Queenie says, but Tina is still fuming. ‘I’ll tell you broke his wand!’

Credence sobs. ‘Sir, don’t… Please. Mr. Graves. Don’t. She’ll kill me.’

He looks at him. ‘Thank you, Credence.’ Then he nods. ‘Mr. Barebone, Miss Goldstein – Porpentina!’

‘It’s not fair!’

And then, with a flick of his hand, he just swipes her away. Credence stares. ‘Stay back – all three of you. Class, settle down. Eyes on me.’

They look at him expectedly as he raises his wand.

‘Obliviate.’

All their eyes go hazy.

‘Good show, class,’ he says. ‘Keep practicing, I’ll be back here in two weeks.’

There’s a chorus of ‘Thank you, Director’, as they all file out of the room, leaving Credence and the girls astonished. Theseus looks back. 'Credence, wasn't it your turn?'

'Next time!' Mr. Graves says, and looks at the girls. ‘I must demand the strictest confidence of you, ladies. If word gets out, you'll answer to me.'

They nod – with Credence still shaking. He’s grateful, but it is still too much – he doesn’t think he can really even bear them knowing. And Christmas Holidays are coming up – he’d been trying to push the thought away, but now, with his wand gone.

‘Thank you. Credence, if you would spare me a moment.’ The girls leave – Queenie glancing back, looking worried, Tina somehow still furious –

‘Credence. I owe you an apology.’

He shuffles his feet. ‘It was my fault. I couldn’t do the spell.’

‘My boy.’ His voice is very soft. ‘Nothing about this display of cruelty is your fault. Not even this setup.’

He grips his arms. ‘Will I have to leave?’

‘No.’ He takes his hand, pries it loose. ‘This –’ he traces the scars on his palms. ‘I needed to know, child. I needed witnesses, proof – without interfering in No Maj affairs. Or using Veritasserum.' He sighs. ‘We’re all beholden to some masters.' He turns around. ‘Eat your chocolate.’

He stares down. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Get you an actual scholarship, for one. Full room and board. Expenses. The works. Vacations too.' He summons Credence's wand - without even using his own!  'And allow me to reimburse you for this. I'll have a selection sent over from New York tonight.' He smiles. 'New ones, not hand-me-downs.'

Credence looks down. 'I can't take this.'

'Tough luck.' He waves him away. 'You need to get yourself to a Healer, son.'

To be his son - this heartache is familiar, for things he'll never have.

'Director?'

'Yes, my boy?'

He swallows. 'What if she's right?'

His eyes flash. 'She's not. That's final. Now get yourself looked after.'

Credence obeys - that's what he does. But he lingers outside the door, nibbling chocolate, not really wanting to leave Mr. Graves' orbit.

And then he hears something he only recognises because he's done it himself, like that, choking, desperate not to be heard. 

It sounds like Graves is _crying._

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to practice writing Mary Lou and I'm still Not Okay with collective Boggart lessons. I mean what excruciating fucked upness. Even with collective Obliviation afterwards it's just such an incredibly invasive thing to do and I can't understand how JKR can both create Credence and happily keep subjecting schoolchildren to having their deepest fears paraded around before lunchtime.


End file.
